


The Angel and the Serpent

by YamiSnuffles



Series: Too Much of a Good Thing [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Both Angels, Alternate Universe - Crowley Didn't Fall (Good Omens), Angst, Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Scene: Kingdom of Wessex 537 AD (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23632069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiSnuffles/pseuds/YamiSnuffles
Summary: "Didn’t really want to go anyway. Go play knight on your own.”“Fine.”“Good.”Aziraphale put a foot in a stirrup and swung himself up onto his horse. When the mist was just about to swallow him whole, he stopped. Despite Crowley’s desire to hang onto his anger, he could already feel it dissolving under the tidal pull of Aziraphale.-Sir Aziraphale of the Table Round must go into battle on behalf of Arthur and Heaven. What's an unemployed Seraph to do when he's left behind?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Too Much of a Good Thing [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1527806
Comments: 19
Kudos: 93





	The Angel and the Serpent

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a soft sort of fairy tale and then angst happened.

Wessex 537

Crowley wriggled about to try to get his armor to sit comfortably. Despite it having been miracled on, it never seemed to sit right. He wasn’t sure whether it was something about the armor itself or if the cold rendered everything uncomfortable. It all made him long for the days of togas and long evenings under the stars in more pleasant climes. He didn’t relish the idea of spending the foreseeable future out in the damp but he disliked the idea of being left behind again even less.

After one last adjustment of his cloak and a quick check to make sure his long braids weren’t in any danger of being snagged by a joint in his armor, he hurried out the door.

“Aziraphale! Good, I caught you.”

Aziraphale was just finishing armoring his horse and didn’t look away as he tugged at the saddle to ensure it was sitting where it was meant. “I hope you’ll excuse me for slipping out. You were just sleeping so peacefully. But here you are anyway. I do apologize if I disturbed you, my dear.” With the steed all ready to go, Aziraphale finally turned to face Crowley. The bright smile on his face flickered and he blinked. “Whatever are you doing in your armor?”

“Thought I might ride along. You know how these things with Arthur can go. There’s no saying when you’ll be back.”

“Oh, well, I mean, I wouldn’t want to trouble you. And I know how you are with horses.”

As if to prove a point, Aziraphale’s horse flicked its long, silvery tale at Crowley as though he was a bothersome fly and not an angel. Crowley stuck the tip of a slightly forked tongue out at it which didn’t improve the situation in any way, but it did make him feel better when the horse shuffled nervously off to the side. Or it did until Aziraphale leveled him with an exasperated look which he had to defuse with a smile.

“No trouble at all. Besides, think about how cold and damp it is and how nice it would be to have someone else around to warm your bedroll.”

“It is rather damp, isn’t it?” Aziraphale replied, though the scarlet at the tips of his ears said that wasn’t the part of the statement he was really considering. “Still, it will mostly be a lot of fighting and I know how you detest combat. Not that- oh, that wasn’t-” He flapped his hands before winding them up in each other. “I wasn’t referring to your performance in  _ the  _ War. Or, ah, lack thereof. I only meant these human squabbles I’m handling on behalf of the king. Dreadful things and there’s no reason for the both of us to get dragged in.”

Crowley lifted and dropped his slim shoulders. “Eeh, misery loves company and all that.”

Aziraphale scuffed his boot and then scowled when the armored tip of it dug into the damp earth. “Be that as it may, I think it would be best if you sat this one out. I had a word with Gabriel the other day and he said-” A snort from Crowley that only caused Aziraphale to square his shoulders. “ _ And he said _ that I ought to be working on my own. And he’s right! This is my job to do and I shouldn’t be passing it off on you. Which isn’t even to mention that Uriel rightfully pointed out how distractible I can be when you’re about or Michael’s point that my paperwork tends to come in a bit tardy.”

Crowley waved it all away with a sweep of his hand. “Eh, forget all that. None of them are ever happy with you.”

“That may be but if I only-”

“No ‘but.’ It’s not on you, Aziraphale. You are always trying to please them and for what? You always get the job done. That should be enough.” Crowley ran a hand over one of his braids and smiled in a way that never failed to make Aziraphale blush, even after hundreds of years. “So what do you say? I can help you out, you can finish in half the time, and then we can get back to more enjoyable things in our warm, dry home.”

Aziraphale’s gaze drifted toward their home before he broke it away. “Crowley, no. Absolutely not.”

Crowley backed away a step, surprised by Aziraphale’s vehemence. “Why? Look, if it’s about the Archangels, you know they don’t check into these things. Just leave me off the report and nobody ever has to know.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I said  _ no _ .” The pink in his cheeks mottled with red. “This... this-” He flapped his hands at Crowley. “Flouting of authority. All these questions and temptations-”

Crowley flinched. “ _ Temptations _ ?”

“Oh, whatever it is you wish to call what you do. It’s trouble, Crowley. It’s why you were removed from your place on the Round Table. It’s why you aren’t allowed back in court and why we live all the way out here and why-” Aziraphale snapped his mouth shut and turned away. He looked back with a flutter of lashes that betrayed the moisture that had gathered in his eyes. “Why I’m the only reason things aren’t worse.”

The way he said it, Crowley knew he didn’t just mean Arthur. If this was all about some human monarch, they wouldn’t have been having this argument. There was no denying that was what this had become. Heat burned in Crowley’s cheeks and blazed a path right down into his gut. Embarrassment. Guilt. Whatever it was, it sharpened into anger.

“Well, I never asked you to stick your neck out for me,” he spat. “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t.” He snapped and all at once his armor was back inside and he was shivering in a doublet and leggings. “There. See? Didn’t really want to go anyway. Go play knight on your own.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

Aziraphale put a foot in a stirrup and swung himself up onto his horse. He started to ride without another word. When the mist was just about to swallow him whole, he stopped. Despite Crowley’s desire to hang onto his anger, he could already feel it dissolving under the tidal pull of Aziraphale.

_ Turn around. Turn around. Turn around. _

He should call out, he knew, but he didn’t and Aziraphale didn’t turn around. Instead the Principality rode on, leaving a vexed Seraph in his wake.

Crowley threw himself to the ground and stared up at the unrelentingly grey sky. He knew if Aziraphale was still there he would have clicked his tongue and told Crowley he was being dramatic. And maybe he was, but Aziraphale wasn’t there to say anything, so Crowley thought he was well within his rights to enjoy a proper sulk. The mud sucked unpleasantly at his limbs. He couldn’t properly glower up at the sky because it was raining just enough that droplets would fall in his unblinking eyes if he didn’t shield them with his arm. There was a growing chill in the air. All in all, it was perfectly miserable.

When it started to rain in earnest, the whole tableau lost its appeal. He could only abide being out in the rain for so long before something tight would coil up in his chest and leave him short of breath. Besides, all that water had kicked up something unpleasant judging by the smell that was wafting through the humid air. He sucked in a breath to sigh and instead ended up coughing over the stench that filled his nostrils.

He wrinkled his nose. It smelled like the mud had somehow gone rancid. Mixed with the smell of wet earth was something like mold and rot and an after note of-

“Evil,” he said in a low growl.

He lifted his legs enough to throw himself up onto his feet. Lightning struck where his head had just been. Crowley watched wide-eyed as fire spread. It should have been impossible but the tingling down his spine told him what he already knew. This was no normal fire.

“Crowley.”

Crowley spun around. “Duke Hastur,” he said, the corner of his eye on the spreading hellfire behind him. “To what do I owe the distinct displeasure?”

“You’ve been a real thorn in my side, Crowley.”   


“Me? What did I do that has a duke of Hell making a personal visit? I was under the impression that I was making work easier for your lot. At least that’s what my lot's been saying in all the interdepartmental memos. Dunno why I even get those, since I don’t, strictly speaking, have a department anymore.”

“This! This is what you did,” Hastur said, a bit of angry spittle flying from his mouth. “I shouldn’t have to make ‘personal visits’ to some blathering wank wings, yet here I am. All because you keep discorporating every other demon we send topside.”

“You could just… stop sending them after me.”

“We did,  _ two thousand years ago _ , but every idiot with an eye for advancement has decided bringing in your head would be a good way to get there.”

“And that’s my fault, how?” Crowley eyed the fire. It had formed a half ring around him. He’d be cornered if Hastur was there for a fight and the fire was too close for him to extend his wings. “Look, I get it. You don’t want to be up here. I don’t want you to be up here. So why don’t you make both our lives better and just-”

Crowley waved his hand. Hastur did not, as he’d half hoped, leave. In fact, the demon stepped closer, a scowl on his face that matched the frog on his head.

“You really think I’d be talking to you if it was up to me?”

Well, that wasn’t good. That meant Hastur was there on orders from higher up. Further down? Whatever the case, someone even more important than a duke of hell had eyes on Crowley and the Seraph didn’t like that one single bit.

“Well, what is it?” Crowley asked, crossing his arms. “Let’s get it over with already.”

“I’m here to extend an offer.” Hastur groaned. “To join us.”

“You want me to- you’re offering-  _ you what _ ? I ssswuh…” Crowley sputtered. “Why would I want to Fall?”

“I think it’s a stupid idea myself. Why should we want a sorry excuse for an angel who’d probably be an even sorrier excuse for a demon? But there’s certain parties that think it would be in Hell’s best interest, since you’re already working for us. Guess it looks better to have a demon doing it than some halfwit angel.”

Crowley felt the suggestion on a visceral level. He wasn’t sure whether Hastur was weaving in some demonic suggestion, but every part of him wanted to recoil. He would have, if he hadn’t been hedged in by hellfire.

He wanted to know who exactly wanted him badly enough to make this offer. He’d known Lucifer back in the day in a vague coworkery kind of way. Old Lucy had worked on some of the oldest, biggest projects in the celestial department while Crowley had been nudging stars into binaries and fiddling about with nebulae. They’d spoken a handful of times. He’d known Lucifer had thought to get him on the rebellion’s side of things but he’d hidden away instead in hopes of waiting things out. Was this an extension of that ages old offer?

Crowley had considered enough times where he’d be if he’d acted differently then. He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it again.

“No.”

Hastur shrugged. “You’re only delaying the inevitable, Crawly.”

Crowley’s stomach turned, twisted at the reminder of the snake he knew was still inside him. He’d grown somewhere close to comfortable with the idea. In this context, though, he suddenly felt less of an angel. Less of himself. But it also gave him an idea.

“Maybe so,” he said. “But I never did know what was best for me.”

His bared, smiling teeth lengthened to fangs and he fell to the ground, pearlescent scales shining dangerously in the fire light. Before Hastur could react to the sudden transformation, he struck. His fangs sank deep enough to keep him from being flung away. Although the smell was putrid and the taste was worse, he wrapped his coils around Hastur to immobilize him.

“Let me go, you snake!”

Crowley only clamped his jaws further and tightened his full body grip on the demon. This had to end here. He couldn’t take the chance that the demon would go after Aziraphale as a means of convincing him. Some wild, feral pleasure coursed through him at the way Hastur howled in anger. Smiting demons the usual way just wasn’t as satisfying. He rarely took pleasure in it, regardless, but Hastur wasn’t the sort of threat he could ignore.

Unfortunately, Hastur also wasn’t the sort to go down easy. Though he could taste the change in the blood and knew his venom was doing its job, Hastur continued to struggle. Worse, he’d managed to stumble his way closer to the hellfire. The heat of it doused Crowley in cold dread. He pulled Hastur’s legs out from under him by tightening a coil just under the knees. Hastur responded with a flick of his wrist that closed the circle of hellfire around them. One wrong move and Crowley would be worse than discorporated.

“Let me go,” Hastur growled, writhing on the heat dried earth, “and I’ll extinguish the flames.”

Crowley considered. He didn’t trust Hastur as far as he could throw him and, given that he didn’t even have arms at the moment, that was saying something. The problem was, trust him or not, he had no other way out at the moment. He reluctantly released Hastur but remained ready to strike again, should he need to. 

Hastur staggered to his feet. His eyes had gone completely black and veins filled with gold shone from his sallow skin. He looked ready to croak and Crowley was sorely disappointed he couldn’t find his voice to make that exact joke. 

Hastur looked at him with a sneer. “You had your chance.”

And just like that, he disappeared into the ground, leaving the fire behind. Crowley would have shouted after him but words continued to escape him. He was finding it harder and harder to find anything of himself. No legs or arms and certainly no wings. Worse, a mind that increasingly narrowed to fire and danger, a heart with too few ventricles that didn’t feel as much as it should. He hadn’t transformed completely since he’d been freed of this form. Had he trapped himself? Had he unwittingly thrown away the gift of himself? He still didn’t understand how he’d earned it back in the first place and now he worried he’d never regain it.

He longed to burrow into the loose earth Hastur had left behind. Instead he curled in on himself and fixed his eyes on the sky above. It was hard to see anything above the glare from the flames. He had to remind himself that it was all still out there. There were clouds and above them sky and space and stars. And somewhere, out in all that, was Aziraphale.

Even if he forgot himself, he wouldn’t forget Aziraphale. He wouldn’t forget the mercury of his eyes, the honey of his laugh, or balm in his words. He could sink away and become nothing in these flames and Aziraphale would remain.

He wrapped thoughts of Aziraphale around him like armor. While hellfire burned around him, he felt only that angelic warmth. As day became night became day, he thought of all the days they’d spent together and all those he hoped they still had. He lost track of everything- the time, the place, himself- but still he held onto that image of Aziraphale.

Rain came down in a torrent. He could hear the roar of it and feel the vibrations in the ground beneath him. He didn’t feel it, though. It was also, he realized, extinguishing the hellfire at last. He’d have blinked if he was able. Shouted. Sworn. Instead he looked up.

There was Aziraphale, still in full plate, with radiant wings outstretched. There was a hole in the clouds directly above him that allowed sunlight to bathe him. He was golden and glorious and Crowley couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so safe.

Once the fire was completely extinguished, the rain stopped and the clouds cleared. Aziraphale descended to the ground, light as anything. He snapped his fingers and his armor vanished. One last flap of his wings and they disappeared as well. Dressed in soft, cream colored linens and swathed in his fur trimmed cloak, he bent low. He ran a gentle finger along Crowley’s spine. Crowley wondered silently if there had ever been anyone who’d looked so kindly upon a snake. There was nothing but fondness in those eyes.

“So sorry to have missed whatever happened here, my dear. I do hope you weren’t waiting on me long. I’m glad to see you’re alright, of course, though I’ll admit I’m surprised to see you like that. It’s been… well, it’s been quite some time now, hasn’t it, since you last took up that form?” Aziraphale noted. He waited a beat, expecting a reply. When none came, he said, “You can change back. The fire should be well and truly gone. I, er, may have blessed the rains. A bit.”

Oh what Crowley would have done to comply with that request, to fall into Aziraphale’s arms and laugh. He writhed in place, willing his body to obey him, but he could do nothing. Aziraphale’s eyebrows knit in concern. He offered an arm, which Crowley slithered onto as fast as he was able. Aziraphale cradled him close with his hand raised high enough that they were eye to eye.   


“Crowley? What’s the matter.”

Still Crowley could say nothing. Do nothing. Panic flooded his system. He wound tighter around Aziraphale’s arm, trusting that the Principality’s strength would protect him from harm.

“If this is some game, I’m not amused. I know it’s you, you silly serpent.” Crowley could feel a shiver run through Aziraphale, could smell the fear come off him. “Crowley? This isn’t… Gabriel said he wouldn’t. He  _ couldn’t _ . No, I’m sure you’re not- you haven’t been-” A sharp sliver of unease cut into Aziraphale’s voice. He closed his eyes, drew in a slow breath, and when he let it out, he’d collected himself. “Whatever has happened, I’m here. No matter what. I’m with you.”

Crowley had forgotten how confining this form was until his heart filled to bursting with want. Want to reassure and to be reassured. Want to love and hug and hold. Want to go back to the early morning before Aziraphale had left, when they’d still been warm in bed together, before they’d fought and everything had fallen apart.

“I’ve got you,” Aziraphale assured again.

He walked them both into their home. He ignored any chair in favor of the bed. The feather mattress sank under their shard weight as he laid back. He didn’t try to talk to Crowley anymore, simply ran a warming hand over Crowley’s sinuous form. It was nice, in its way. Crowley found it hard to fret over his fate when he was enveloped in a world that smelled of the two of them. It might just be alright, somehow, no matter what happened. He relaxed into the continued touch of calloused fingertips.

Aziraphale’s eyes were pointed toward the ceiling but he turned them down to Crowley with a wobbling smile. “We’ll be alright,” he said, echoing Crowley’s own thoughts. “You know this, I hope? I love you, Crowley. I don’t say it enough, perhaps. It’s simply that I’m frightened.” He worried at his lower lip. “The things the other angels say sometimes… They mean well, surely. Only trying to caution me, to prepare me for the worst. But it troubles me and I think perhaps I’ve tried to keep you at a distance to protect you. That’s all that foolish fight was.”

Crowley nuzzled into the soft curve of Aziraphale’s jaw. He couldn’t tell him how much he regretted fighting. He’d been frightened, too. Not of Falling or whatever it was the Archangels had put into Aziraphale’s head, but that he’d finally gotten to be too much. The last thing he wanted was to push Aziraphale away and yet that seemed all he was good at these days.

And yet, there they were still, together. They might have been in different forms but they still fit just as well. Aziraphale bent his neck, delicately lifted Crowley’s head, and kissed him. Yes, there they were and there they would remain in blissful accord. Warmth blossomed from the point where lips met scales. Crowley sighed and closed his eyes before he even realized he had eyelids to close once more.

“Well, hello there,” Aziraphale said with a chuckle.

Crowley blinked rapidly. He was no longer a snake. He was, instead, a very delighted jumble of limbs collected haphazardly in Aziraphale’s arms. He wrapped his own arms around the back of Aziraphale’s neck and captured his mouth in a joyful kiss. While he had other senses as a snake, many of his angelic ones were dulled. He could have cried at the sudden return of love that blanketed him. Instead, he pressed in his lips more emphatically, let his teeth nip, and tongue explore deep into the inviting mouth beneath his own. Aziraphale moaned and quickly dug his fingers into the looser hair at the base of Crowley’s long braids.

“Love you, angel,” he panted between breaths. “Couldn’t say it before. Couldn’t say anything, but I do."

He fully planned on showing just how much but Aziraphale caught his face between his hands first. Aziraphale had a determined set to his face despite how wide his pupils had blown.

“What happened? How did you get stuck like that.”

Crowley laughed. “Do we have to talk about that right now?”

Aziraphale wiggled. “I suppose not. Only… I was terrified for you. I want to know it won’t happen again.”

“I know that tone. No matter what you say, you’ll fret silently over this and neither of us will enjoy ourselves until it’s settled.” Crowley groaned and rolled off of Aziraphale. “Don’t know if I can do that, though. Settle things, that is. I can tell you I didn’t change because of some divine punishment if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Tension visibly smoothed from Aziraphale’s shoulders. “What happened?”

“Some time after you left, Hastur came for a visit.”   


Aziraphale sat up so suddenly that he nearly knocked Crowley out of bed. “What was a Duke of Hell doing here?”

Crowley cringed. Now that it came down to it, he didn’t really want to say. If Aziraphale was already worried about the state of his immortal being, that wasn’t going to help. “Oh, ehn, well, just came for a chat really.”

“A  _ chat _ ? About what?”

Crowley rolled onto his side so that Aziraphale could no longer look him directly in the face. “Wanted to see if I’d take the old swan dive from Heaven,” he replied with a wrinkle of his nose. “Fall. Become a demon. Make it official.”

“Make it- There’s nothing to make official!”

“I mean, I do sort of have a bad habit of stirring up trouble. You said about as much yourself.”

“You are  _ not  _ a demon.” Aziraphale’s face crumpled. “And I’m sorry I said all that. I’m so frightened for you. It’s no excuse, I simply need you to understand that.”

“I do. Trust me, I do. And you wouldn’t have to worry so much if it wasn’t for-” Crowley gestured vaguely at himself and then wrapped his arms around each other. “Besides, s’nothing. Do you think I ended up surrounded by hellfire because that conversation went well? Even if I’m halfway down there already, I’m not just going to… saunter the rest of the way down because they asked nice.”

“I know, I know. I don’t doubt  _ you _ . I just-”

“Worry. I know. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I’ve got plenty, but let’s not beat that dead horse right now, yeah?”

He wriggled closer and buried his face in Aziraphale’s broad chest. For a moment he thought Aziraphale would actually let it drop. One hand rubbed soothing circles on Crowley’s back and the other stroked over his hair. It was quiet and nice and so of course it couldn’t last.

“Wait, you still didn't explain how you ended up as a snake. Did Hastur-?”

“Nah. It was me. He taunted me. Called my Crawly. Seemed like a good way to get rid of a demon at the time. Didn’t think I’d get stuck.” He nuzzled his face into Aziraphale’s collar, pressed his nose in and found the downy edge of chest hair. “Thought at first I’d ingested too much demon blood or something to do with the proximity of all that hellfire. Or maybe that She was mad at me for, well, take your pick.” 

“And now? What do you think now?”

“Still not convinced this isn’t some joke on Her part but I think in this in particular, it was just me. Panicked. Lost myself. The more I panicked, the more I lost. Probably would’ve got stuck without you.” Crowley stretched out his limbs and crawled back on top of Aziraphale. Propped up on his elbows, he looked down, kissed one cheek and then the other, the tip of a nose, and finally lips. “Never feel more myself than when I’m with you. Different, too, but good different.  _ Great  _ different.”

Aziraphale’s answering smile was transcendent, sending the skin around his eyes crinkling in pleasure. He took Crowley’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, lowered it for a kiss.

“The feeling, my dear-” Another kiss. A gliding touch. Pale fingers tangled deep in crimson hair. “-is most certainly mutual. Now-” A testing, upward roll of hips. “Perhaps you were right before and there were more pressing concerns to consider. I have no assignments in the near future. I think it best we catch up on lost time.” 

Crowley smiled into another kiss. “You read my mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Aziraphale blessed the rains down in Wessex_


End file.
